Thorns in Shadow

by Sanan Kolva

  Nylas drew a quick, sharp, surprised breath. Cages opened, chains fell from the limbs of those caught in their hold. Then Nylas looked at the manacles still around his own wrists and ankles, and he fixed his gaze on Lyan again.

  Lyan met his gaze. “They aren’t restraining you.”

  “You think not? Idiot mooncalf.”

  Lyan’s jaw tensed, but he kept his voice even. “I’ll thank you not to insult the moon like that, Nylas. I’m sure any child of hers has far more sense than I.”

  Nylas paused a moment, taken aback. He didn’t respond, only moved to his men, helping those who needed the aid to get to their feet. He stopped before one soldier who had managed to push himself up to sit on the angled table where he’d been bound with limbs stretched tight. Nylas looked at the elf and said simply, “You won’t walk.”

  The other didn’t deny the assessment. Lyan saw his feet and knew why. The elf’s feet were black and swollen, misshapen with broken or crushed bones. Pain lined his pale, drawn face. “Then find… me… a weapon, sir.”

  “Why…” Lyan started to ask, before understanding sunk in. He looked sharply at Nylas. “You’re not leaving anyone behind!”

  “And who do you suggest carry a cripple?” demanded the injured elf, anger giving his voice strength. “You?”

  “Reeze is not the only cripple here,” Nylas said, voice flat. “Regardless of how you got in, do you really expect to walk back out without causing… a stir?”

  “Do you care so little about your own men that you’ll leave them behind to die?” Lyan burst.

  Lyan didn’t see the blow coming, but expected it. Nylas hit hard. Lyan crumpled to the floor. Chains rattled as Nylas grabbed him by the shirt and lifted Lyan up to his face. “You know nothing,” he hissed. “I would rather carve out my own heart than leave my men here. I do not abandon them, and they know it. They are willing to see their lives end in battle against our enemies. They know we are not going to get through Tathren guards if half my men are unable to fight because they’re carrying those who can’t stand. So, tell me, ‘Lyan’, do you and your Spear have some means of making the lame walk?”

  “If you don’t let go of me, you may never find out.” Lyan locked gazes with Nylas, and they glared at each other. Finally Nylas released Lyan’s shirt, letting him back down to the ground.

  The elves stirred, angry eyes fixing behind Lyan as he heard steps on the stone. Lyan turned to see Cailean approaching. The Tathren lord stopped when he saw he had Lyan’s attention. Lyan said nothing to Nylas, but walked with Cailean back to the far wall where the rest of their group stood.

  Aikan trembled with anger. “There is no reason we should be freeing these bloodthirsty savages.”

  “Elven ears are very keen, Aikan. Keep your voice down,” Lyan replied. “How much of what Nylas said did you understand?”

  “He’s kept mostly to speaking in Tathren,” Cailean answered in a low voice. “He switches to Elven sometimes, but mostly we’ve understood. I did hear that not everyone can walk. Those left behind will kill as many guards as they can before they fall.”

  Lyan nodded.

  Cailean gazed at Lyan, then motioned for him to follow as he opened the door to the stairs and moved into the short hallway, creating at least an illusion of privacy. The Tathren spoke softly. “Can Equinox create a way to get everyone out, Lyan?”

  “I don’t know,” Lyan admitted. “When I ask questions like that, there are so many possibilities I can barely think, or figure out what any of them are or do.” He paused as Equinox thrust a barrage of sensations at him. “I think… not easily.”

  “You don’t have stories? Legends?”

  “I know a tale where a Bearer of Solstice uses the Spear to move people from one spot to another like the door at the shrine did, but that isn’t much help.”

  “Why not?” Cailean asked.

  “From what little I can tell, the Spears don’t share abilities. Solstice can do things Equinox cannot, and Equinox can do things Solstice cannot. They may be able to reach the same ends, but not by the same ways.”

  “That’s not what I meant, Lyan,” Cailean said. “Equinox is not the only Spear here.”

  “No.” Lyan shook his head. “If you use Solstice…”

  “I’ll manage,” Cailean said.

  “You’ll be unconscious and surrounded by elves who invaded your land to take the very Spear you’re talking about using!” Lyan argued. “I don’t trust Nylas’s word nearly that much.”

  “Lyan. We agree we can’t leave anyone behind, right?”

  Lyan nodded reluctantly.

  “Can you tell me a better way?”

  I can’t let Cailean do this! If he tries to transport us outside the keep, he won’t be able to do anything, not even defend himself. Isn’t there some other way? Some way that won’t drain him and announce to Nylas and all his men that Cailean carries Solstice?

  A thought pressed into his mind as Equinox offered an alternative. Lyan stopped. They don’t have to know Cailean did it. If they think it my doing… Can I give Cailean strength and offset the curse’s effects?

  He looked at Cailean. “I have a plan that could work, if you’re willing.”

  “Tell me.” Cailean met his gaze evenly.

  “You use Solstice, as you offered. Equinox will give you my strength so the curse won’t drain you. As far as Nylas and his men know, the magic would appear to be my doing and the work of Equinox.”

  Cailean stiffened. “That would put the brunt of the curse’s effects on you, Lyan.”

  “Exactly.” Lyan held Cailean’s gaze. “I’m the one who becomes weak and exhausted. I’m the one who shows all the signs of working powerful magic, giving them no reason to suspect you.”

  “You have no idea how dangerous what you’re suggesting is, Lyan.”

  “It’s a danger you’re willing to take for people who would gladly kill you regardless of Solstice. So it’s one that I’ll take for… my own people.”

  Cailean nodded finally. “All right. I don’t like it, but if you’re sure…”

  “I’m sure.”

  When they returned to the prison, Lyan saw the elves had scoured the dungeon for weapons. Their captors left little, but even poles and chains became deadly in elven hands. The elves divided into two groups: the walking wounded and those whose legs and feet had been too mutilated to stand. Even some who kept their feet did so by sheer determination. Lyan saw bloody footprints left by a pale-faced elf who limped past clutching a wooden pole in one hand; rough bandages wrapped the other.

  Nylas faced Lyan. “Well?”

  “We’re not leaving anyone here,” Lyan said, unbending. “Whether they can walk or not.”

  Doubt met his words. Watching Nylas’s men, Lyan didn’t know how some could move without screaming. He looked away from the fresh burns and lash marks he saw all around. Near Lyan, Shiolto shifted uncomfortably, wanting to help the injured. Lyan rested a hand on his arm and shook his head.

  “Let’s see this miracle you claim you can work,” Nylas sneered.

  “Gather together.” Lyan walked to the middle of the room, where Nylas had been chained.

  Cailean followed close, the rest followed. The elves surrounded them. Even Torqual stood stiffer, wary and uncomfortable. Yion still radiated calm.

  Thinking back to the implication of Yion’s words to him at the passage, Lyan couldn’t help but wonder if some of Yion’s calm came from an assurance that he could kill even a band of raging elven warriors if he needed to. Lyan tried not to ponder the thought too long.

  A new distraction came, but not an encouraging one. Somewhere up the dark stairs, the door creaked open. Nylas spoke, voice dead calm. “If you expect your miracle to work, Lyan, you should do it before the torturers arrive. They’re on their way now, the same time as they always come.”

  Lyan shot a look of alarm to Cailean, icy fear running through him. “You could have mentioned that sooner, Nylas.”

  The e
lves held their weapons, eager for a fight. It would be only the start of a battle that would leave this keep red with blood. The door above groaned shut. Lyan gripped Equinox, palms damp with sweat. Cailean drew a deep breath, eyes closed.

  Give him the strength he needs.

  Lyan couldn’t feel the magic Solstice began working, but he did feel Equinox respond. As if a pile of stones had suddenly been slung onto his shoulders, Lyan staggered. He panted for breath as if he ran uphill pushing a boulder, or swam endless circles, unable to find shore.

  At his silent command, his earring didn’t translate his words. Lyan whispered in an archaic language, certain the words would be indistinguishable from spellcasting to those who heard. “Hurry. Please hurry. And please, if any gods are listening, please let this work.”

  The weakness grew worse, and still nothing happened. Lyan clung to Equinox, but even hanging onto the Spear felt like trying to carry lead weights.

  The door at the bottom of the stairs opened, and a moment of stunned silence followed. Lyan didn’t look to see the disbelief on the faces of the Tathren torturers. He heard it clearly enough in their voices.

  “The prisoners are loose! Guards! To arms!”

  All around Lyan, the elves tensed, ready to attack. Lyan spoke sharply in Elven, voice thick and strained. “Move from your spots and you’ll die a meaningless, unnecessary death at Tathren hands.”

  “Hold position,” Nylas ordered.

  Guards poured down the stairs with battle shouts. Lyan sagged against Equinox as an endless Tathrens hoard charged, too exhausted to do more than watch. Elves bared their teeth, ready for battle.

  Lyan’s stomach dropped to his toes as the world lurched. Vertigo assailed him and sounds became a blurred chaos of noise. He heard someone shriek, and didn’t think it himself. Lyan squeezed his eyes shut against the bottomless, empty void into which he fell until finally the spinning stopped and sound returned—his own rapid panting for breath and a cricket’s uncertain, querying chirp.

  He opened his eyes. Balance abandoned him. He staggered and tripped. Lyan gasped in pain as his ankle twisted. He grabbed desperately for any support.

  Hands caught him and lowering him to the ground. A voice whispered in his ear. “Sit down. Mooncalf.”

  Firmly seated on solid ground, Lyan blinked rapidly. Nylas stepped back, arms now folded across his chest as if he hadn’t caught Lyan from falling on his face. Looking past him, Lyan saw that most of the elves lay sprawled on the ground, or sat with expressions as dazed as his. Tall grass grew all around them, and the midday sun shone down. Raising a hand to shield his eyes against the light, Lyan searched the landscape for the looming stone monstrosity, but saw no keep. Lyan closed his eyes and dropped back on the ground.

  “You certainly have a sense for the dramatic,” Nylas said.

  Lyan peeled one eye open to look at his cousin. “Could have mentioned… schedule… little sooner.”

  “Why? Either you could do what you claimed, or you couldn’t. One way or the other, we would have left the dungeon. It simply would have taken longer if you’d failed.” A long pause followed, then Nylas spoke in a low voice. “I am… in your debt. No doubt you and your—companions—will be parting ways with us now.”

  Lyan found energy enough to shake his head. “To forest… with you.”

  “Why?” Nylas demanded.

  “Your men insisted… leave someone… with them.”

  Nylas’s mouth curled in a sneer. “You were fool enough to leave a Tathren in my camp? You won’t get him back.”

  “Didn’t leave… Tathren,” Lyan answered. “Kithr stayed.”

  Nylas stiffened. “Kithr is here, and he left you alone with Tathrens?”

  “He thought it… better idea than leaving me alone with your men.” Lyan closed his eye.

  Nylas shook him, making Lyan wince. “You don’t sleep until I know where we are.” He lifted Lyan to sit again, though Lyan slumped with the boneless sag of a dead weight. “Where did you take us?”

  Opening an eye again took most of Lyan’s fading determination, and he could barely focus. He couldn’t answer Nylas.

  “Let him be, elf. Lyan just saved your life and the lives of all your men at the expense of most of his strength.” Cailean spoke, voice sharp and protective. “He needs rest. And I believe the dark spot on the horizon is Malgor Forest.”

  Nylas looked in the direction Cailean indicated, but he addressed his words to Lyan. “Closer to the forest than the keep, then. We need to leave before the soldiers come hunting.”

  “Just stick me on a horse…,” Lyan said.

  “So next you’ll conjure horses? Good. I could use some food,” Nylas responded.

  “Not food. Gifts… from Ohrlan. And Shadowstar.” Lyan blinked and tried again to focus, but he knew it a losing battle. He spoke again, but not to Nylas. “Shadowstar. Find us. Bring the other horses…”

  Nylas lowered him back to the ground, and Lyan gratefully anticipated sleep. Before it found him, he heard Nylas speak to Cailean in a low, angry voice, meant for no one else to hear.

  “I don’t know what business you think you have with Lyan or what he’s doing in your company. But know this, Tathren dog: if you allow any harm to come to him, I will hunt you down, gut you alive, and strangle you with your own entrails.”

  “If I let harm come to Lyan, I assure you that you won’t be the first in line to bring me slow and painful death,” Cailean responded.

  “Don’t dismiss me, Tathren!”

  “I don’t,” Cailean responded grimly. “But to carry out that threat, you would have to reach me before either Kithr or my own men.”

  If Nylas said more, the words flowed past Lyan, not even reaching his dreams as the darkness of sleep swallowed him whole.

  Chapter Six

  Guiding star, lead us home

  Bring us safely to our rest

  Guiding star, forever roam

  Guide us ever through your test

  The scent of food wafted past Lyan’s nose, rousing a groggy mumble. His stomach growled, and he wondered fuzzily whether hunger made it worth the effort to open his eyes.

  He heard Dalrian chuckle. “If this didn’t get a response, I was going to wonder if you’d ever wake up, Lyan.”

  “Huh…?” Lyan blinked, opening his eyes a little. He smelled moisture in the air and heard the soft patter of light rainfall hitting something just overhead. “Morning already?”

  “More like mid-afternoon,” Dalrian answered. “Careful sitting up—the shelter’s keeping the rain off you, but it’s not sturdy.”

  Lyan blinked again, finally recognizing the obstruction between him and the rain—live grass stalks woven together closely enough that only an occasional raindrop slipped through. He reached up to touch the grass. When his fingers brushed the stalks, they unraveled, returning to their natural state.

  Nylas’s work.

  Lyan clumsily sat, feeling every muscle in his body throb. Even with the overcast sky, the light stabbed in his eyes, and moving made his head pound. His right hand ached, and he realized he still clutched Equinox as if the Spear would be wrested from him. He peeled stiff fingers loose.

  Dalrian handed him a trencher of thick stew. “Eat. I can hear your stomach from here.”

  Still little more than half awake, Lyan devoured the stew. He nearly burned his tongue, but his stomach quieted.

  Lyan grew aware of eyes on him. He looked up and around. Cailean, Aikan, Torqual, Yion, Shiolto, and Dalrian all sat near. Nylas’s soldiers kept watch on Tathrens, Lyan, and the land around them. Tall grass rose over their heads, shielding them from patrols that might be searching for them. Beyond the elves, Shadowstar and the other horses grazed, unbothered by the rain.

  “Anyone else eaten?” Lyan asked, rubbing gritty eyes. He could see the elves had bandaged their more serious wounds, but their gazes didn’t tell him whether or not they resented his meal.

  “Everyone’s eaten,” Dalrian said. “The
elves hunted and brought meat for the stew. We tried to wake you earlier, but you didn’t even stir. Lo… Cailean said to let you alone.”

  “Still rather be asleep.” Lyan paused, frowning. “I thought… didn’t I say… to put me on a horse and keep going?”

  “You did.” Nylas spoke from behind him. Lyan jumped. “Apparently, you failed to inform Shadowstar of this plan, Lyan.”

  Lyan shifted around to face his cousin. Nylas scowled down at him, arms folded across his chest. Freedom from the Tathren dungeon hadn’t softened his disposition in the least. “Sorry… Shadowstar was stubborn? And you at least believe that’s Shadowstar?”

  Nylas’s scowl deepened. “There’s little chance I could mistake that damned beast for anything else, Lyan. As Shadowstar has shown a marked preference for only one person, I am forced to accept that you are the fool you claim to be.”

  “Wait… how would he recognize Shadowstar?” Shiolto asked. “How long has it been since he saw you, Lyan?”

  “Not since he left for the war,” Lyan answered. “But Shadowstar has been not exactly my horse, but has answered my call since my youth.”

  Nylas cuffed him, making Lyan’s ears ring. “You still insist on calling that creature a horse?”

  Lyan rubbed his throbbing head. “What? Shadowstar is a horse.”

  Nylas crouched down to eye-level with Lyan, speaking in a tone he would use with a slow-witted child. “Tell me you at least know how long a horse lives, mooncalf.”

  Lyan thought. “Fewer years than a human?”

  “And Shadowstar has lived how many?”

  “More than I have,” Lyan answered.

  “And you’re nearly a hundred and fifty. Yet you still call that creature a horse?” Nylas pressed.

  “Well… not an ordinary horse,” Lyan allowed.

  “The guardian spirit of Appret Plains is not an ordinary horse.” Nylas snorted scornfully. “And Equinox is not an ordinary weapon.” He stood. “Get up. We’ve lingered here too long.”

  Lyan picked up Equinox and started to get his feet under him. When weight settled on his left ankle, he drew a sharp breath and stumbled.